An Italian Pharmacy Experience, a lesson for all

At some point or another, if you live in a place longer than six months, most likely, you'll catch some sort of a cold. Some people are certainly luckier than others when it comes to sickness and their strength of immune systems. Me, personally, I've always been quite fond of my strength.  Thanks, Mom and Dad, the genes you've passed on are like the muscle-rippling body builders, ready to lift any amount of weight.  Many years of my life, to date, I've had the luxury of only being sick once a year.

Until I moved abroad.

Is there something in the water? Is there something in the air?  I know for darned sure there's something on the handles of the public bus transportation.  Wow, can I share some stories of what's been left on them from people's faces and hands.  But I'd rather not have you beautiful readers throw up on your keyboards.  

Let me take a moment to plug my newest product, justVASGO brand Barf Bags.  Only 10 Euro per 1 pack.  

When I first went to Spain back in November, all was great.  A week later, I arrived back in Rome or a little after and I was bed-ridden for three days straight.  Having survived the Flu with scary low sub-temperatures, my body never feeling so cold for so long, I resolved to go to the doctor next time something strange like that happened.

My expert was kind enough to capture my zombie-like pain and suffering.

Knowing my destiny, January arrived in this beautiful city and along with it, sickness.  Feeling awful, I got out the old handbook from my art historian's connections with a Rome branch of a U.S. university.  Need English speaking doctor, I told myself in some odd, caveman-like fragmented sentence.

Flip, flip, flip.  Oh thank goodness, I told myself as I found the page with their recommendations for English speaking doctors.  Then my tone changed. Lucky me. It's only going to cost 100 Euros just to see the doctor because I'm not a student. 

After a few hours of painful inner deliberation, I decided to suck it up and spend the money.  After all, living was better and only a doctor knew what I was to do.  The worst possible scenario was WebMD said I could die.  Excellent!

After being squeezed in as an extra last appointment for the day, the only doctor willing to stay late, a pediatrician, said I need to be checked out by their other specialist.  All I thought was, Is it going to be a free consultation? 

Something REALLY must have been wrong with me to think that.  Free?  Ha!

The next day came and I got the specially arranged extra-early first appointment of the day, taken care of, tested, etc., and she gave me a full size sheet of paper, her office's letterhead.  It was actually the prescription!

I took the full size sheet of paper and inspected the few items I needed, trying to remember what each one's purpose was.  I brought it to my local farmacia, the pharmacy in Italy found on every main street. They usually have a big plus (+) sign lit up in green over the door to help you identify it. In I walked and they had two of three drugs.  Why?  Because this pharmacy was more like the beauty and cosmetics counter at the department store.  I was lucky, though, that they at least had the usual over the counter meds, but nothing more specific.  In my case, the other one I needed is listed in the U.S. as one of the Controlled Substances the DEA enforces, but I don't know which Schedule it's listed under, I through V, roman numerically-speaking. Anyway, they sent me down the street to the next location with a more diverse inventory, the true pharmacy where I could have purchased all three in one strike.

In I walked to the next one, showed them which prescription I needed, paid and lef. In, out, wham, bam, thank you ma'am! It couldn't have been easier.  With the prescription in-hand, my life was simpler. The doctor did the work for me, telling me what I needed based on my symptoms.  

But for a friend who lived here for about four months, she didn't want to go to the doctor.  She knew what she needed, at least what it would have been in the U.S. and went to the pharmacy.  Her Italian speaking capability wasn't at the fluent level so there was a struggle, but she explained what she was looking for and the pharmacist helped her find what she needed.

She brought it home, emailed one of her parents who is a doctor to see if she got the right thing, and was told immediately to NOT use those!!!  The pharmacist had sold her medicine that assists with CHEMOTHERAPY, a treatment to control the spread of cancer, definitely NOT what she needed.

A valuable lesson lies in both of these experiences. DON'T GET SICK.